


Like Real People Do

by waywardriot



Series: Vanven Week 2018 [4]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, VanVen Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardriot/pseuds/waywardriot
Summary: Vanitas hated his illusionary prison more than he’d hated anything. More than he’d hated Ventus, more than he’d hated his master. He just needed someone to show him what was real.Vanven Week Day 4: Illusion





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> whoops! this one got away from me so it ended up being a lot longer than i meant.
> 
> more vanitas pov! i love vanven bonding in sora's heart, so this one is running directly alongside my day 2 fic. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109806
> 
> this piece is operating under the assumption that vanitas and ventus both dream of things in sora's life (it's only vaguely mentioned but it's a concept i like). the concept of the darkness physically seeping out of vanitas is a variation on a concept by olivemeister, and i highly recommend his fics!

Vanitas hated his illusionary prison more than he’d hated anything. More than he’d hated Ventus, more than he’d hated his master.

It felt like he was constantly being mocked, to live such a peaceful life that wasn’t even real. The calm was manufactured, and it would be ripped away someday just like anything remotely good that had ever touched his life.

He spent the first who-knows-how-long screaming and trying to fight his way out, but he discovered how it was an illusion when he tried to escape. As he got to the edges, it felt like his existence was unwinding, fraying like a scarf. When he reached out to tear at the walls, his fingers started to fade away, scaring him so badly that he shook. He was scared to not exist again—he had thought death would bring peace, but fading into light was an abyss.

His next discovery was how his body was an illusion too. It looked perfectly normal, based on the reflection he could see in the water, but he couldn’t do anything with it. He couldn’t summon his monsters because they were manifestations of the darkness in his body, but now he was just fake. He couldn’t get physically hurt or physically hurt others, something he’d found out fighting his other half.

Yes, Ventus was there. His third most hated thing.

He had crept up on Vanitas while he was curled up screaming into the sand, touching him to try to bring him out of his fit. All that did was trigger him more, make him shriek and try to fight instinctually. All Ventus was trying to do was to hurt him, right? So he had to hurt him back. Except he couldn’t.

Vanitas tried to make bruises bloom underneath his pale skin ( _oh, how Vanitas despised how unmarred he always was from his master_ ), to make blood flow forth from his veins. Nothing worked, and Ventus just stared at him, scared and baffled as he was beaten into the ground. The lack of harm or pain just made Vanitas wilder and wilder, having a full-on tantrum until he passed out from the sheer emotional agony.

Once he learned that fighting Ventus would do no good, he spent much more time ignoring him, although Ventus still followed him like his shadow. Every time Ventus tried to speak, Vanitas cursed at him before trying to run off, although it never worked for long. Ventus seemed to intuitively know where he was and came to haunt him like the ghost of his past.

Vanitas realized one day that the point was to wear him down, and it was working. He grew to let Ventus sit next to him, provided he wasn’t talking. The moment he spoke, Vanitas got up and left without another word—or he tried to fight him, depending on how volatile he was feeling. The sound of his fake voice grated on Vanitas’s fake nerves, and he did everything to deter him from speaking. Even so, Ventus tried to start conversations over and over, and he never gave up for some stupid reason. 

He was able to catch Vanitas off guard one day as he was drifting off to the sound of the waves, forcing him to listen. “Isn’t it nice to just sit here?”

Vanitas grunted and rolled to face away from Ventus. He was too tired to run away like usual, and of course, Ventus took that as permission to continue.

“I feel relaxed for the first time in a while.”

Vanitas didn’t dignify that with an answer because his retort was obvious. He didn’t want to humor Ventus’s fake feelings about the illusionary ocean.

Thankfully, Ventus was quiet, and Vanitas fell into the weird dreams he kept having about the boy they resided in.

* * *

Once Ventus figured out that Vanitas could put up with the speaking, he started to do it more. Vanitas hated it, but he was growing used to the voice and the way Ventus spoke so enthusiastically about everything. He never seemed to run out of topics, finding something more every single time; he somehow managed to carry on entire conversations on his own.

He at first spent far too long talking about his friends, hoping that they were still safe and okay. Vanitas knew they weren’t, but he didn’t say anything; he figured he would have to deal with more questioning, so he stayed silent and let Ventus prattle on about how ‘strong’ and ‘brave’ they were. As Ventus transitioned subjects, he went on and on about unrelated things, talking about his wants and dreams and his time on the Land of Departure and his favorite activities and his favorite foods and—

God, it never ended, but Vanitas just let Ventus talk to himself until he would literally pass out mid-sentence, taking solace in the fake silence.

* * *

Ventus got Vanitas to finally talk one day as he discussed his feelings, something Vanitas _despised_.

“I love the ocean. It makes me feel so good with the way it’s always flowing and—”

“You’re not ‘feeling’ anything, idiot. Nothing here is real,” Vanitas snarled, getting up to leave. He didn’t want to hear about the mockery of the natural world that this fake place conjured.

“So? I think I feel it, so I do.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and that’s saying something,” he scoffed, stalking off to find the cave where he liked to hide, where he always calmed himself down by spending time tracing the pictures on the walls until his fingers were numb.

Vanitas thought he heard Ventus say ‘you feel it too’, but he kept going.

* * *

“What makes you so sure this is all fake?” Ventus questioned one day, standing ankle-deep in the water.

Vanitas sighed. “We’re in someone’s heart. By definition, it’s not physical, so we don’t have physical forms anymore. We can’t feel what’s not real.”

“Why does that matter?”

Vanitas paused. He wasn’t really sure, honestly. He didn’t spend much time thinking about it. Ventus didn’t say anything, continuing to wade around in the shallow ocean.

“The feelings won’t matter when we leave,” he spoke after a few tense minutes.

“You don’t know that. Plus, they matter for now, so you might as well put up with it,” Ventus shrugged. “Or you can let yourself suffer because you’re a stubborn idiot.”

Ventus found his face acquainted with the water as Vanitas kicked him down.

* * *

“Can you feel things physically here?”

Ventus looked a little shocked when Vanitas initiated conversation for the first time. “Not in the same way as the real world, I don’t think. Only if I focus on it.”

Vanitas hummed in thought, eyebrows furrowed. Gently, he thrusted his hands deep in the sand, concentrating intensely. “I don’t like that,” he decided resolutely, and Ventus laughed at him.

“Yeah, sand sucks. You can find better stuff, though.”

Vanitas spent lots of time running his hands over different parts of the island. The good sensations calmed him. He hated the feeling of sand and coconut fuzz, but he loved the feeling of water on his face and the sun burning his illusory skin. It was a good way to take up time, too, distracting himself from the storm in his head by searching out new sensations.

* * *

Ventus touched him one day, and Vanitas was afraid. His first thought was _oh god, it’s starting again, I’m being hurt._

Because of his inability to force his emotions out as he always used to, he had to keep them in. He never learned how to deal with them internally, so they festered inside him, mingling with the darkness until it leaked out of his body, almost like the way it did when he was real, although uncontrollable. It was a terrifying sight to see, him seizing on the ground as the darkness poured forth from him, streaming from his tear ducts and leaking out of his nose and bubbling up from his skin—but Ventus chose to comfort him with a hand on his back in a way no one had ever done.

It renewed the fear and cries, the new emotions causing more and more darkness to seep out of his body (he tried to tell himself it wasn’t real, but it didn’t stop). Ventus was frantic, not knowing what to do as Vanitas got worse and worse, losing his mind as he writhed on the ground.

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” he shrieked, garbled by the darkness.

Ventus was at a loss for what to do, so he just sat back, eyes wide and arms holding his knees tight.

When Vanitas finally calmed down and stopped new darkness from flowing, he was weeping and shaking. “It’s not real, it’s not real, I’m so fucking stupid,” he sobbed. “Why do I let it hurt me if it’s not real?!”

“Your feelings _are_ real,” Ventus insisted softly. “You can let them hurt. It’s not stupid.”

Vanitas wiped the darkness out of his eyes, smearing it all over his face like he'd been rolling in dirt. “Shut up.”

Ventus shrugged. “Do you wanna get washed off?” he asked before standing up and patting the sand off his pants.

Vanitas was curled on his side, and he stared at the water. “I can’t move.”

“I can move you.”

“No.”

Ventus sighed, but he let Vanitas lay there, leaving him. With him gone, Vanitas let himself cry so hard his throat hurt. He was so alone and so empty and so fake.

But he came back.

He came back with a coconut cut in half, going to the ocean and filling the halves with water before dumping it on Vanitas.

“Dick,” Vanitas grumbled, but he let Ventus continue to wash him off—as long as he didn’t touch him.

* * *

The next time Ventus tried to touch him, Vanitas was crying into his hands as the tide rolled in, curling around his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Ventus whispered, sitting down gently next to Vanitas.

“Everything hurts,” he cried—he was getting better at letting himself cry and letting himself feel, although it hurt so badly every single time.

Ventus wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Vanitas stiffened. Ventus paid no mind, rubbing his upper arm softly and staring at the sky as he spoke. “I know. You’ve been hurt a lot, but you should let yourself rest here.”

“I’m afraid,” he admitted. He was always afraid to let himself relax, knowing that the worst things come when your guard is down.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you here. I’m the only one here, and I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Vanitas was silent, focusing on the feeling of Ventus next to him so that he could _actually_ feel it; it got easier to feel with time. He felt the warmth leeching into his skin, and Ventus was right. It did feel nice, and it felt… comforting. No one had ever comforted him when he was real. If he showed weakness, it was beaten out of him. Kind touches didn’t exist in the endless expanse of the desert.

“Why do you want to touch me?”

Ventus sighed and leaned his head on Vanitas’s shoulder. “Physical touch helps people feel better. And… it shows someone y-you care about them.” If it weren’t so dark, Vanitas would have been able to see his blush.

“You care about me?” Vanitas murmured, lips parted slightly in confusion.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve told you, stupid, you’re my other half. Plus, it’s hard to spend time with someone and not grow to care for them, even if they’re an asshole.”

Vanitas snorted and shoved Ventus over, and the stars shone in his eyes as he laughed gleefully. Vanitas thought that as stupid as it sounded, he may be feeling something.

Something real.

* * *

Vanitas learned that the touches actually worked to ground him. It reminded him that what he felt was real, even if it didn’t always feel so. Even in this place that existed between sleep and wakefulness, Ventus kept him present and made him feel safe.

Ventus explained that you could tell dreams weren’t real afterwards because you didn’t actually feel the things. The touches there made them feel things, so they must be real, right? Even if it’s not a complete existence, it was something—although Vanitas didn’t quite believe him yet.

Through Vanitas’s hesitance, Ventus always let him come to him. He let him cry onto his shoulder, hug him until his ribs cracked, lay on him even when he couldn’t breathe. Vanitas threatened that if he ever told anyone about this, he would crush him into dust once they had their bodies back, and Ventus just laughed and pulled him closer, assuring him that he wouldn’t.

Being held made Vanitas feel more whole than he ever had; it was a feeling akin to those precious few minutes when he and Ventus were one, forging the χ-blade as it was meant to be. Ventus filled the void in his chest and made him feel as if things could be okay; when he and Ventus had their bodies completely flush to each other, he forgot that they were trapped in an illusion.

These feelings confused him a lot. He knew it was logical that Ventus would make him feel whole, as he was his other half, but something weird and warm curled around his heart. Sometimes it made him feel ill—the force of it punched him in the stomach and made him want to throw it all up, but it was also in a good way. He wanted to vocalize it, but thinking about it made his insides catch on fire, so he chose to ignore it for as long as possible. It didn’t feel… right to speak about it—at least not yet. He was afraid of disturbing this delicate dance him and his other half were doing.

* * *

Kissing was a new kind of touch, and it only amplified the feelings, making his heart explode with joy. It felt like he had light inside him, even though that was impossible. It was the strangest thing—who would think that touching lips would make him feel so lightheaded and giddy? Maybe he was sick, but as long as Ventus didn’t mind, he was willing to do it forever.

Each and every kiss was like a bandage applied to his heart, doing its best to hold it together despite the multitudinous cracks. When Ventus kissed his tears away, it always made him stop crying so that he could laugh shakily at the way it tickled and return the embraces.

He grew tired and scared of the feelings and the force they threatened, so he went to the person he trusted most (sure, he was the only person, but it’s the thought that counts).

“When you touch me, it… um, it…” Vanitas sighed, squirming in the sand. “Fuck, I don’t know. It does something to my heart.”

“Something good?” Ventus gently questioned, building a castle at the edge of the water.

“I… think so. Yeah. It hurts sometimes, though,” he continued, voice thick with confusion. 

“That’s love, I think.”

“Do you love me?”

Ventus laughed, turning to Vanitas and smiling so wide he had to close his eyes. “I do, like I always tell you, stupid.”

“Just checking,” Vanitas grumbled. “You know I’m not used to feelings.”

“You’ll get it one of these days,” Ventus hummed, and Vanitas rolled his eyes, joining Ventus at the shore to add onto the castle. The worries lifted off his mind just a little as they bickered joyfully, but he was still mindful not to touch Ventus or make eye contact.

* * *

The more Vanitas thought about love, the more scared he felt—it was a feeling so thick and intimate and _real_ even while he still doubted the reality of their existence at times. The acceptance of it was the acceptance of their existence, the acceptance of what was happening to them and how things were changing for them. 

If he loved Ventus, it meant they’d grown together; it meant this was a place that had a basis in reality and that they could grow and improve with the normal flow of time. It showed that the things Vanitas dreamed of happening outside were real—the place they were in really was tangentially connected to the real world. It didn’t really make sense at all to him, but he knew that this cemented everything that had happened.

He still wasn’t sure if it was love, anyways.

* * *

It was love, he realized after he managed to clear the denial from his vision.

There was no other explanation for the things he felt and the things he was willing to do. He would do it all over again, take the pain if it meant he could lay with Ventus and watch him sleep always. He’d live in this fake ( _not so fake anymore_ ) place if it meant he could be with Ventus forever, kissing him until his face tingled.

When he woke Ventus out of a deep sleep to tell him his revelation, he didn’t even feel offended that Ventus snarked and insulted him. It was simply endearing, and it made his heart soar. He spent the rest of the night holding Ventus and actually _sobbing_ into his hair that _oh god, he loved him so much, he was so sorry for everything he’d done, he would never hurt him again._ Ventus just held his cheeks and kissed him over and over, whispering loving words against his mouth.

They both woke up late into the day, sun high overhead as it shone into their shack and woke them up. Vanitas remembered how he fell asleep weeping, and he was instantly overwhelmed with the force of everything. He shook almost imperceptibly, biting his nails, and of course Ventus noticed.

“Do you regret it?”

“No, never!” Vanitas choked out, pulling Ventus closer. “I-I love you. I mean that with every part of me.”

“Is it real?” Ventus asked, and Vanitas could feel the hesitancy in this question with the way his eyes looked down; he really hadn’t realized the effect his doubts were having on his other half.

For the first time, he answered without hesitation. “It’s as real as everything here, and that’s all as real as the outside world.”

He knew in his heart that this place didn’t obey the rules of the world, but the love that filled in the cracks in his heart obeyed the rules that destiny laid out. For that reason, his feelings were real, and he always wanted to let Ventus know that in the realest way possible. Ventus had showed him what was real, so as he kissed him breathless, Vanitas vowed he would do that in any way possible.


End file.
